Leave Our Problems Behind
Posted on 30 Jun 2023 @ 12:45pm by Commander Calliope Zahn & Captain Corvus DeHavilland & Lieutenant JG Maxwell Tilmer
Edited on on 15 Oct 2023 @ 8:06pm
Mission:
M3 - Into the Deep
Location: Pathfinder, Engine Room
Timeline: m3 D09 Late morning/ early afternoon sometime
1869 words - 3.7 OF Standard Post Measure
“Ensign Tilmer, you have command of Engineering.”
It was something Max Tilmer had not even imagined hearing for many years to come. He’d become kind of accustomed to being written off and so used to being told to stop slaking and clowning around that he had somehow begun to only see himself through that kind of feedback. He was never going to amount to more than a third string guy on the gamma shift. And the idea had suited him. Stay off the radar and be a hack. That had been his career plan and outlook. In a matter of hours he’d been on a fast paced, high demand away team and managed a nearly impossible transporter rescue of the castaways, then outsmarted one of the most intelligent figures in all of starfleet engineering, maybe even one of the smartest in the history of starfleet engineers. And here he was, placed in charge of an engine room from which yesterday he’d been written off as the problem child.
He’d hadn’t the time to think about the turn of events until now, calling out orders for damage control, drawing up repair plans with the NCO team lead, CPO Sanwin Escher.
Escher had been standing by as the drama between the bridge and the engine room had unfolded. He’d been uncertain how to act under Quinn and debating how he might run the ejection protocol himself, when Tilmer had stepped in and solved the problem.
As he wiped sweat from his brow and rubbed his greasy hands off on his coveralls, CPO Escher handed off a padd to his new boss, a fresh opinion of the younger officer writ over his face. “Chief,” he said, in place of Ensign. It was something of an olive branch. Using Tilmer’s new provisional role where it sounded like the NCO rank, gave almost a ring of fraternalism between young officer and older NCO. “I have the latest updates on the structural repair.”
Tilmer looked at the padd, scrolling through it thoughtfully before looking back up at Escher. “Decks seven and eight, in aft section, we need to finish those repairs before we get back to base.”
Escher nodded. He’d been witness to the events surrounding the Alabama’s intervention and knew that if the station personnel had to enact the structural repairs they would figure out it was stress fracturing from resisting a gravitational well, and not attributable to weapons fire. Too many questions.
“We’re assigning everyone we can down there, ripping out the damaged bulkheads and replacing them with temporary struts. We can’t get to the outer damage at warp, however.”
“Maybe not to replace the hull but… if we were just to just kick the plating off behind us…”
Escher sucked in his upper lip and his eyebrows raised in thought “Seal off deck eight, put up some force fielding, and just blow the warped plates?”
Tilmer tipped his head and smirked. This was something he might have been derided for suggesting before, as a jackass cutting his corners. But why fix it if you could just kick it out and watch your problem in the rear view? “Makes the timeline much much shorter, right?”
Escher chuckled as Tilmer handed him back the padd. He couldn’t think of something better. “Nothing to ask questions about if there’s nothing there to examine. I’ll plan the demolition, Chief.”
It was honestly the last place that she wanted to be, considering the recent issues with the former Chief of this deck, but she knew that she needed to at least check in and like with everything else; seeing the Captain would probably help morale. Especially in a situation where she was sure was already demoralizing enough.
Captain DeHavilland came onto the engineering deck through the double doors looking specifically for Ensign Tilmer, though she wasn’t exactly sure which one Tilmer was. She knew her ship's company, at least by names on the roster, but she hadn’t really ever interacted with the young man. All she had was the name, the reports from Wiser and Quinn and the expectation that he was at least more functionally competent than his predecessor.
Rather than make a show of asking about, she simply walked in and called out for him, “Mr. Tilmer!” she called out loudly.
Recognizing the captain’s voice, a blonde haired young trill with a wispy mustache poked his head around the maintenance display. “Yes ma’am? Present.” He glanced at Escher for a little help. Was he in trouble? Did the Captain often come down to the engine room? Was he supposed to have been prepared with some kind of report? Escher shrugged and left him hanging.
“Mr. Tilmer,” Corvus said, spotting the young man who had answered. She tried to smile, realizing that the young Ensign probably didn’t interact much with senior officers like her, and was now thrust into a situation where he had to be the interface between the engineering team and the command team. “How are things going here?” she asked him, trying to be gentle.
Engineering wasn’t one of her stronger suits. It certainly wasn’t the mathematical aspects of the discipline; she could probably do the complicated complications that Tilmer needed on the day to day in her head without the computer. She just didn’t have the, for lack of a better word, mechanical aptitude that an engineer needed. If it was all theory and scientific application of theory, she could handle that. But when it came down to turning the proverbial wrench, and how, she was near to the worst choice.
“Uh, well, damage control is about done with some of the grid failure on deck 3. We had to take rear shield generators offline. Industrial replicator is off line in the most damaged aft section deck, which is holding up some of the repairs. That was the section where the quartermaster had gotten wounded while clearing some of her personnel on the deck. I just decided to scrap the damaged aft hull. We’re not going to be able to replace it before we get back to the station, and the plating is obviously shear warped anyway. We’re going to wait until we’re a little closer to base and then just shed the plates behind us.” Tilmer’s mustache twitched as his lip twisted. It occurred to him there was probably a procedure for getting that kind of thing approved. “With your permission, ma’am.”
Corvus cocked her head strangely, but nodded. “We can try to trim our course close enough to a local star that the plates will find a place to go melt,” she agreed, strange and unconventional as that was. It would be better than trying to explain the shearing on the plates.
“I got the memo from Theseus, and I’m waiting for the rest of the procedure for the computer records sensor scramble I’m supposed to run. I sent back my suggestion for how to redact the false entry’s log file. It’s essentially a data mask from the diagnostic manager profile. Basically I’ll start a system update with a timer, make the entries in the management profile, then cancel it before it starts. It will erase the log in the cancellation. If anyone asks why I started and canceled a system update I just… am young and stupid.” Tilmer gave his lamest lame-ass grin. He’d clearly been practicing the act. It had gotten him out of a lot of responsibilities in his career thus far, short though it might yet have been. His superiors would take one look at him and pass him over, assigning more important tasks to go-getters like Wiser, or at least someone that looked like they were home upstairs. But now that he’d just ousted one of those superiors, he knew the jig was up with Captain DeHavilland. He might as well employ his favorite skill of playing dumb in her favor. “Theseus’ CEO should find a separate method, so we aren’t both doing the same out of the ordinary move, you know? Less suspicious.”
“Unless she came up with the same,” Corvus smirked, “Though I doubt that,” she added, eying him warily. He was far more clever than she would have given him credit for. “What’s the explanation for the missing plates? Something to do with the storm we flew through?” she asked.
“Yeah, I mean, uh, yes ma’am.” Max cleared his throat, trying to improve on his slouchy image that he’d been working on for so long. “We’re still reporting that atmo dive, right? We took some aft torpedo damage and electrical scoring, with the turbulent wind conditions, it all can add up to the structural and hull damage, as long as no one has the plates to compare to the tale, since the hull was obviously warped from a strong aftward force, not from flying into forward windshear.”
“Means we definitely need to make sure those panels jettison somewhere they’ll be obliterated,” Corvus frowned, folding her arms across her chest. “Alright, Ensign. You remain Chief Engineer for the duration of this mission. That means what you say goes here. If you need anything, you come to me or Commander Zahn directly. There’s a senior staff meeting in two hours. I expect you there, understood?”
“So just to be clear, Commander Quinn… won’t be in attendance?” Max had been both figuratively and literally looking over his shoulder, waiting for the other shoe that would be the vengeant return of his boss, having negotiated retribution of some design for Tilmer’s undermining him.
Corvus twitched slightly, her irritation bubbling to the surface. “As…” she began, checking her own reaction. She couldn’t say too much on this, “Commander Quinn will not be returning to Engineering during this mission. All engineering security protocols have been transferred to you. If you have any issues with the Commander on your deck, report it to me immediately.”
“Super.” Tilmer said with some relief. It seemed pretty non negotiable, which meant he could be sure not to let Quinn muscle in or bully him any which way if it came to it. “I’ll see you at the meeting then, Captain. Thanks.”
As Captain DeHavilland left the Engine room, Tilmer let himself breathe again.
“I guess you really are the boss around here then.” Escher’s voice made Tilmer jump. He’d forgotten the man was still there. It seemed Escher knew when to let the Officers have time to themselves and how to melt into the bulkheads to selectively go unnoticed. Tilmer supposed that was a skill of the experienced enlisted crew.
“Yeah. Lets get on this plan.” Tilmer air-tapped the review hologram. “I’ll be working the computers while you’re on deck 8. By the time I get to this meeting, I just want to tell the Captain we’re go-ready for Operation Cover-Our-Ass.”
“More like Operation Uncover-Our-Ass…” Escher chuckled as he left, a nod to his new Chief.
